


It's Hard to Hit

by Spiritmoon23



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble book, Hitman AU, M/M, ill try to put chapter by chapter warnings if i need to tho, like mafia and stuff, lots of different hitman aus and the like, warning: sometimes this will get very very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:39:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiritmoon23/pseuds/Spiritmoon23
Summary: A collection of dark/assassin au/mafia au fics, mostly featuring aph america





	1. Please tell me that's not your blood!

“Please tell me that’s not your blood!” he sighed in exasperated dismay, closing his book and setting it on his lap.

“Yeah, about that,” Alfred chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously, “The operation didn’t exactly go as planned tonight.”

Ivan grumbled, making his way over to the other and immediately checking him over for injuries. “You are so lucky the mafia favors me and keeps me employed, or your sorry ass would be long dead.”

Alfred started unbuttoning the white dress shirt slowly, wincing at every movement. “Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s why I keep you around, right? Then everyone’s happy!”

Ivan jerked his arm up sharply to look at his side, making him yelp. “Yes, everyone’s happy. Until you come home with two bullet wounds to the abdomen, then I want to kill you myself.” Ivan picked him up, bridal style, and carried him up the stairs to the small, sterile room next to the bathroom that served as a hospital room for those who couldn’t risk going to an actual hospital.

“But you’re, like, super good at your job so I don’t even have to worry about it!” Alfred tried to brush it off, pretending it wasn’t as bad as it was.

“I sure am. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t even change into scrubs or sterilize extra tools or even make sure I don’t contaminate myself and the environment.” He set him gently, though unceremoniously, down on the pseudo-plush operating table, then paced around the room a few times, gathering his instruments and gloves.

Before he began, he slipped a mask over his mouth, covering up the concentrating frown that was sure to appear any moment. “I hate you,” he said finally, diving right into his work.

Alfred flinched, biting his lip to keep from crying out. “Love you too babe.”


	2. Hitman?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually kinda super old as well soooooo

Alfred sprinted into the meeting room, panting.

“Sorry I’m late guys!” He said, going to his seat near the front.

“Why are you late again, America? And why aren’t you in uniform? I thought I raised you better than that,” a sarcastic Brit cut in, glaring at the nation before taking a sip of his tea.

A screech sounded from the back of the room. “Oh mio dio! Germany! America’s bleeding!” Italy screamed, rushing forward, his old mafia training kicking in. “America, what was it? Was it a bullet? Where is it?”

America backed up, away from the frenzied Italian. “Dude, Italy, I’m fine! It’s just some red dye from earlier, I swear!” Damn it! I must have moved the bandages when I was sprinting in here. What if they find out? I won’t be able to keep up the oblivious hero act anymore! Damn it! he thought to himself. What was the point of keeping up the act if he was too clumsy to keep work away from this personification fiasco.

“No, you’re not, America,” the German cut in, frowning. “I’ve seen dye and blood; that is blood.”

“America, bro! How did you get stabbed? I was beginning to think you were untouchable!” Prussia yelled from across rthe room.

“Damnit Prussia! No one else was supposed to know about that!” Denmark put in, earning him and America a stare from everyone else in the room.

“Know about what, America?” England asked, looking rather confused. America sighed, turning towards the door.

“Let me show you,” he said, disappearing and returning shortly with a duffle bag and a notebook. He threw the bag on the table and opened up the notebook, which was filled with names and numbers.

“This is a book of all of the people I have been paid to kill, along with how much I was paid to kill them. There is a red highlight over everyone who is already dead, and a yellow highlight over everyone who I have in captivity and I’m waiting to deliver to the employer,” he explained, flipping through some of the pages and point at different examples. A few of the countries fainted, most of them were white with fear, and Russia looking at him curiously.

“Oh mon dieu…”

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL AMERICA!?!?!”

“It isn’t much, and most of my better stuff is still at home, but I had to bring this job’s tools with me this time, so you can see them if you want,” the American said, the proceeded to open the bag and take out various different weapons and things that he may have needed, along with some medical supplies in the case that he got hurt, which didn’t happen often.

“Oh, yeah. I should probably tell you that I’m a hitman.”


	3. It all changed for him that night

He stood outside of the entrance to the library, books in hand, staring, fixated, at the teen standing in the doorway to the chemistry lab across the yard. The man across the way had immediately captured his attention, and his heart. The stunning beauty, the pale complexity, the fluffy, almost white hair. It was in this moment that he knew his life had changed forever.

This was going to be the first boy he’d ever killed.

———-

Alfred walked home, side-by-side with his twin brother. He gazed up at the sky, not hardly listening to anything his brother was saying.

“Alfred, are you even listening?” Matthew asked, kicking his foot out to the side and almost tripping the other. “What’s got you all moony-eyed, bro?”

Alfred sighed wistfully. “Oh, dear brother of mine, I’ve fallen for someone.”

Matthew looked at him in shock. “Y-you don’t mean…” he stumbled, disbelieving.

“I do, Mattie. I think I’ve found the one!” he squeaked, looking to the other with his blue eyes practically shining in pent-up excitement.

“Well, come on then! We’ve got to get home! There’s so many things you need to tell me! So much to do, so much to do!” Matthew took his brother’s sleeve in his fist, dragging him behind as they ran the last block to their shared apartment, books bouncing around in their bags.

 

Matthew closed the door behind them and slung his book bag into the bedroom next to the door. He did the same to Alfred’s, then ushered him into the small living area. “Come on, tell me about them,” he pressed, curling up on one of the two cushiony nest chairs, practically pulling his brother down into the other one.

“Well,” Alfred started nervously, a dusting of red beginning to paint his cheeks, “It was a guy. He was tall, fairly well-built while still remaining slender enough to be almost feminine,” he paused, “Kind of like a soccer player. But he had the palest skin, and the palest hair, like French royalty in the Elizabethan era, and he was leaving the chem lab which means he must be smart, too.” Alfred swooned dramatically, almost tipping the chair over, then broke into laughter with Matthew.

“Sounds like quite the dream,” he commented once he calmed down a little, “But are you sure we’ll be able to take him? He’ll be our first actual person.”

Alfred waved his hand dismissively, “We’ve killed hookers before, this’ll be no different.”

“Alfred, those girls were half starved, drugged off their asses, and thought they were goin’ on a fuckin’ vacation. That hardly counts. This guy sounds to be in top condition. What if he overpowers us?” Matthew voiced his only concern, looking his brother over to make sure he knew what he was getting them both into.

“Alright, alright,” he compromised, putting his hands up, “What if we took out someone a little less drugged and starved than those girls, and a little less in-shape than him first. Then, in that time, I could maybe get to know this person a little better. Make it more personal.”

Matthew smiled, dark and sadistic. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

——[cut about two weeks]—–-

“D'ya think we’re ready yet, Mattie?” Alfred asked while working on his Russian finals essay. The weather was getting warmer, but there was still copious amounts of rain, which was what it was doing now. Silence, save for the constant patter of raindrops on the window, met his words.

Finally, Matthew responded, drawing out his words carefully. “I think, that given the fact that the year will be ending soon, that yes, we should start preparing to pick this flower. So, yeah, we’re ready.”

“Then, we do it, finish this last year of school, then leave, right?” Alfred confirmed excitedly, rolling over on the floor so he could face his brother.

“Right.”

“So, how’re we gonna do it? Quickly, then toy with his corpse? Or play before he dies?”

“It’s your query; I will do whatever you see fit.” Matthew smirked. “And, if I remember correctly, it was you who fell head-over-heels for him, am I right?”

“And? At least I wasn’t the one who almost drove us off of a bridge ogling at that French hitchhiker,” he shot back teasingly.

“Hey! He was great, and attractive, and funny, and almost killed us and dumped our bodies on the side of the highway! That’s soul mate material right there, bro,” Matthew defended himself and his current choice of a lover, “And he’s good at fucking, unlike some people I know.”

Alfred looked mockingly offended, putting his hand over his chest and gasping loudly. “How dare you insult my sexing abilities! I’ll have you know that I am one-hundred-percent a good lay, through and through!”

The two dissolved into loud, obnoxious laughter, letting it fall to fits of giggles before Alfred began speaking again. “So,” he paused to giggle one last time, “if you are still sleeping with French-guy-who-ended-up-being-a-crazy-murderer, what if this guy ends up being some kind of crazy murderer too?”

“You know, you’re awfully imaginative, Al.”

———–

Alfred checked through the black backpack for the sixth time since they’d gotten into the car, making sure that they didn’t forget anything.

“Alfred, we have everything. Quit being so jittery,” Matthew chastised, then, softening his tone, “It’ll be fine, Al.”

“I know, I know. I’m just so nervous! Excited, but god the butterflies are really getting to me,” he whispered rapidly. Alfred fixed his shirt into place again, unable to sit still.

The plan for the night was simple: Alfred and the flower, Ivan was his name, were to meet at one of the gay bars near campus. They were to talk, act like it was just any old date, and Alfred was going to drug the other’s drink, offering his a ride. Just like any kind of date-rape, but with less rape and more homicide. The usual, really; nothing super out of place or unusual.

They pulled up tp the club, the sidewalk in front of it bathed in the neon pink and green lights. Alfred scanned the few people outside, eyes quickly catching on the fair-skinned man he had completely and utterly fallen for.

“Alright Mattie, here I go! Wish me luck!” he said, hopping out of the car and balancing on the edge of the curb.

“Don’t forget: midnight is your deadline. If you’re not here I’m automatically assuming you’ve been caught and I’m tracking your phone. Keep it on you. Got it?” Matthew reaffirmed, waiting for the nod from his brother before driving off to pass the next couple hours.

“Hey!” Alfred called, bouncing up to the other, “Ready?”

——–

“Come on, we’re goin’ to my house, okay?” he almost whispered to the drugged man who he was supporting on his shoulder. The other mumbled something incomprehensible, then blacked out completely. “Ah, finally.”

“Come on, Al! I’ve got things to do, people to see!” Matthew beckoned, opening the passenger side door to their dark colored Chevy. Alfred stuck his tongue out, earning one in return, before settling the target into the backseat and jumping up to his spot in the front.

“So, how’d it go?” his brother asked once they pulled out of the neon-lit parking lot.

“Not as bad as I had thought it might, although I did have to fight off the urge to just fuck him there more than once.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Matthew glanced into the back seat, “Because I agree that he’s quite attractive. I think I might just join you in your play~”

They laughed, and the car dissapeared into the darkness along the deserted highway.

HEADLINES!!

Local Man’s Body Found In The Woods!  
Local man Ivan Braginsky, 23, was filed as missing a month ago, and his mutilated body was   
found yesterday in the woods near Champaign exit of I-74. Authorities have discovered no leads as   
to what happened, although they suspect foul play. There have been traces of drugs and acidic   
materials recovered from the victim and the crime scene. Further details will be available as the   
story develops.


	4. Tag, you're it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this ends in rape, and implies that date rape drugs and torture have been used. Read at your own discretion.

It started fairly early into the night. The fuzzy feeling in his head buzzed and made him disoriented. It's just the alcohol. Maybe I should stop soon.

He laid his head on the bar, blocking out the sounds around him and attempting to get his thoughts back in order. Everything was going on all at once. There was too much stimulation in the tiny bar and it was just too much too much too-!

Someone nudged his shoulder, grounding him back in reality a bit. "Hey, you don't look so good. Are you alright?" The voice had an accent, making the words harder to process in his drunken stupor. Eventually, he understood the question.

"Yeah, 'm fine," he grumbled, sitting up on the stool to appear less, well, pathetic. He turned, and got a good look at the person speaking too him.

Pale hair, pale skin, pale eyes. In the lighting of the bar he looked soft and fragile, like he was made of porcelain. His smile was small and sweet, and reminded him of his brother. An overwhelming need to cry came over him, and it took everything he had to keep himself from a breakdown.

"You are not fine. Come with me, I'll take you home." He offered an arm for him to lean on, and almost autonomously he took it, walking with the man outside. The cool, damp night air shocked his senses and hurt his skin, but he didn't care. It took enough out of him to walk straight. Or at all.

"Wait, wait," he slurred, "I don't even know your name."

"Oh, my name? Call me Ivan." He'd never heard a name like that. _Of course, he's foreign._

"I'm Alfred."

"Well, Alfred, it's very nice to meet you." They had reached the foreigner's car; a nice Mercedes, all black and very shiny. He took the time to admire the car from the outside, and the way the neon lights glinted off of the polished surface.

"What if I throw up in your car?" he fussed, hesitating. "I wouldn't want to ruin something as nice as this."

"It's fine, I've got two more in my garage." Alfred oggled at him. Two more? _Mercedes?_ This man obviously had money. It made him feel small in comparison.

"Really, mister, I can call a cab or something-"

"No, please, I insist. I wouldn't want some sketchy man in a dirty car knowing where you live. He might try something." Alfred opened his mouth to argue some more, when his vision went black and he swayed, almost falling to the pavement in the process.

"O-okay," he managed, falling into the passenger seat. The last thing he saw before he blacked out for good was that smile, curled in a way that was just wrong. Crooked.

\-----

He woke up still in the car, presumably a few minutes later. He looked around, eyes wide, trying to figure out what had happened and where he was.

He shifted in his seat, pushing himself up into a more comfortable position. "I see you're awake?" the person driving asked, sparing a side glance his way.

"Yeah," he mumbled. His mouth was dry, his jacket was half-zipped, and he smelled like vodka. He must have been drinking again. At this rate he was going to kill himself from poisoning before they ever found Matthew, assuming he was still alive. "Where are we?"

"Not far now. Just a few more minutes." Just then, he swore, glancing around and pulling over to the side of the mostly deserted interstate.

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked. "If it's something with the car I can fix it, I'm a mechanic."

"No, you're still drunk. I can do it. But I might need you to hold a light for me." Ivan got out of the car, and he did the same, walking around to the back to see what he could help with. Standing made him dizzy again, and he had to brace himself against the car.

Ivan walked around to where he was, a length of something in his hands. What is that?

Before he could move, the man was on him, tying his hands together with a deadly efficiency. "What are you doing?" he cried, trying to struggle. The intoxicated haze made the air feel like honey, making his movements slow and weak.

"Your name is Alfred F Jones. Your brother, Matthew Williams, went missing exactly one week ago while he was walking home from his second shift job at the liquor store. He has yet to be found. But I know where he is, and soon so will you."

Alfred's eyes widened in horror, finally realizing what was going to happen to him. "How do you know all of this?"

Ivan chuckled. "Pain can make anyone say anything." He left it at that.

He dragged him, struggling, into the field on the edge of the seemingly abandon road. Eventually, he ran out of the strength to fight, resolving to walk just behind him. He was still being dragged forward by the rope tied to his wrists like livestock. It made him sick.

Soon he saw it. A small shack, decently made, with no windows and a single door, sat out in the middle of this field. It wasn't visible from the road, so it would be perfect for hiding live people if the need arose. Which it apparently had.

"Where is my brother?" he demanded, albeit quietly. His throat was dry, and his voice was scratchy.

"Just inside," he motioned to a few steps, leading down about four feet to the door. The man waited, watching Alfred expectantly. He was supposed to go down first. Of course.

He took the steps slowly, one at a time, to avoid falling down them altogether. Ivan was patient with him. He wished he wasn't.

When he got to the bottom, he stepped to the side, letting him unlock the door, then rushed inside, stepping around him and into the tiny room

There were two people chained to the concrete floor. One was just a child, curled up in the corner shivering, bruises covering his arms and legs. On the far side of the room Matthew was slumped against the wall, bangs hiding his eyes in shadow. He, too, was covered in bruises, but his were accompanied with blood. Neither of them were wearing any clothes, and they both looked almost deathly thin, a stark contrast to how he had seen him last.

"Mattie!" he cried, the fight within him renewed with a vengance. He lunged into the room, ropes sliding out of his captor's hands. "Mattie..." Alfred brushed the hair out of his face, tilting it up so he could see. His eyes were blank and sunken in. He was dirty, too.

Tears tracked down Alfred's face. He looked so broken, so lost. His eyes cleared for a moment. "Alfie?"

He glanced at his brother, then behind him at the man looming in the doorway. He flinched and refused to look at him any further, and it broke Alfred's heart.

He turned and muttered darkly, "What have you done to him?"

"What I'm about to do to you!" Ivan's voice was cheerful and light-hearted.

Alfred backed away, still tied and dizzy and weak, trying to delay the inevitable. His efforts were futile, however.

In seconds Ivan was on him, securing his hands to the floor and ripping off his clothes. He tried to scream, tried to fight, to get away, anything, but he couldn't. He was too weak.

Ivan forced him to the floor, a hand over his mouth and the other around his neck. He could hardly breath.

They continued like this, touches becoming more intrusive and more unwelcome as they went on. Ivan forced him onto his hands and knees, pushing his face against the wall. "Are you ready to find out what I did?" It was less of a question, and more of a threat.

Something was shoved into him roughly, making him scream. The sound tore his throat and his features contorted. He couldn't move, and all he knew was pain. White, searing pain.

Then the thing started moving. And vibrating. And it hurt. He tried to scream again, but no sound came out. He began to sob, and his legs started to go numb. The movements slowed, and he almost sighed, but then was accompanied by something sharp.

It dug into his side, so hard that blood started trickling down his leg. Fear shot up his spine, and he blacked out once more.


End file.
